Tell Me When I'm Gonna Live Inside
by IndigoNightandRayneStorm
Summary: Damon went behind Alaric's back, but can Alaric forgive him? AU. Character death, sort of. SLASH. DamonxAlaric.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Tell Me When I'm Gonna Live Inside

**Author: **Indigo Night

**Feedback: **Yes please

**Summary:** Damon went behind Alaric's back, but can Alaric forgive him?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Vampire Diaries or the characters.

**Spoilers: **AU, so not really.

**Pairing: **Damon/Alaric

**Warnings:** AU. Character death, kinda. Slash. Schmoop.

**Author's Note:** If you've read my other story When The Dust Settles, that was originally meant to be a prologue to this, but it spun out of control, so they aren't officially linked. The title is from the Skillet song Rebirthing, which is a really good song. Read, Review,

**ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Alaric came to both slowly and all at once.

It was smell first, of all things that hit him; dust and mildew, and something warmer somehow, tangy.

His first instinct was to sit up and look around, to see what it was he was smelling so he could understand. But he discovered he couldn't move, at all.

Sounds hit him quickly. Thunderous rain that seemed to be hammering against his skull, even though he wasn't getting wet. It stopped abruptly a moment later, and was followed by a loud thudding as though someone was trying to play catch with boulders.

He was in pain. Everything hurt, a sort of dull aching, highlighted by a sharp stabbing in his head and an uncomfortable prickling across his neck. Even the dim glow of light filtering through his eyelids hurt.

All of this his senses perceived in a matter of seconds, while his mind was still too muddled to interpret them. He lay there for what was simultaneously an eternity and less than a minute, unable to move, attempting futilely to make sense of the messages his senses were receiving.

Quite abruptly a large, surprisingly warm hand was touching his face. They felt so good, he instinctually just wanted to press his face into them and let go of everything else, but his brain wouldn't let him.

"It's okay. Just relax." The voice was little more than a whisper, but it sent lances of pain shooting through his skull and he winced, unintentionally trying to move away from the noise.

"Hold still," the voice admonished sternly.

He knew the voice, that voice meant a lot of things to him; danger but also safety, frustration but also pleasure, and so much more. But a part of his brain he'd never even known existed was trying to tell him that the voice belonged to the strange warm, tangy scent and he didn't understand.

"Damon?" he rasped, his voice painfully rough. He had the vague, nagging feeling that had something to do with the prickling of his neck, but he wasn't sure why. "What happened?"

Damon didn't answer, even though Alaric knew he hadn't left because he could hear Damon breathing. With tremendous effort he managed to pry his eyes open, only to have to immediately snap them shut again against the brightness of the light.

"Damon?" he insisted, struggling to force his eyes to stay open. He didn't like this, being stuck helplessly on his back unable to move much or see. He didn't like not knowing what was going on. And he really didn't like the anxiety he could physically feel coming from Damon.

"Damon!"

"Stop moving. You haven't finished healing yet. You don't drink enough." The last part was added in a mutter that Alaric probably wasn't meant to hear.

Finally, Alaric managed to open his eyes enough to ascertain that he was lying on an unfamiliar bed, in a room he'd never seen before, and he was being blinded by muted, pre-dawn light that was filtering in around the edges of thick black-out curtains.

Damon was hovering over him, pushing him back down on the bed. They were both covered in blood, but Alaric couldn't remember who's.

"Where are we?" He asked, choosing to relinquish to Damon's demands he stay put and focusing instead on keeping his eyes open.

That, at least, Damon was willing to answer. "Georgia."

Alaric frowned. He vaguely remembered staying late at the school to grade papers… a phone call… everything was hazy, and the harder he tried to focus on the memories the more unclear they became. Despite that, he was certain he had had no plans whatsoever to travel to Georgia.

"Why?"

"I like peaches," Damon evaded. "Relax. The memories will come back, don't push it."

"My head's killing me." His memories were frustratingly unclear, but his awareness of his surroundings were becoming more distinctly in focus.

"You'll adjust to it." He stood and moved away from the bed with an abruptness that made Alaric dizzy, though his eyes had no trouble following the movement. Just as abruptly he returned. "Here, these will help." He slid a pair of sunglasses over Alaric's eyes; and they did help, though his head still ached.

"What's wrong with me?" Alaric pushed himself up so he could lean against the headboard. Despite the aches and dizziness, he surprisingly didn't feel weak or shaky; he felt strong.

Damon hesitated, but sighed with the air of one accepting the inevitable.

"You're dead," he admitted.

Alaric was not a stranger to the very real possibility of people returning from the dead. Technically, he himself had done it before, though under different circumstances. Nevertheless, his mind refused to comprehend Damon's meaning.

"How?" he demanded.

"John Gilbert slit your throat."

"No. How… am I back?"

Damon wouldn't meet his eyes, though his tone was casual and offhand. "I've been slipping a little of my blood into your drinks for months."

Feelings surged through Alaric; rage, betrayal, confusion, and also something he couldn't quite name.

"How could you?" he accused in what would have been a shout if his still sore voice hadn't cracked at exactly the wrong moment. "You knew I didn't want this!"

Damon shrugged, but with new eyes Alaric could clearly see through the flippant front. "I figured when the time came you might change your mind."

He needed to move, he needed to get away. Away from Damon and this dark, musty room of death, he needed fresh air. He pushed himself out of the bed and staggered to his feet, shoving away the hand Damon extended to steady him.

He made it barely fifty feet from the house when it him, and he stopped. This house, no unlike the Salvatore Mansion in Mystic Falls was isolated, away from the town, surrounded by woods. He was in an unfamiliar place, how knew how far from other people, but besides that, there was absolutely no place he could run.

He couldn't escape this thing that had happened to him. He was dead. The only choice that remained open to him was whether he would succumb to it, or accept it.

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Tell Me When I'm Gonna Live Inside

**Author: **Indigo Night

**Feedback: **Yes please

**Summary:** Damon went behind Alaric's back, but can Alaric forgive him?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Vampire Diaries or the characters.

**Spoilers: **AU, so not really.

**Pairing: **Damon/Alaric

**Warnings:** AU. Character death, kinda. Slash. Schmoop.

**Author's Note:** Here's chapter two, sorry for the delay. Thanks for all the reviews! Read, Review,

**ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Damon watched Alaric through the window. He didn't bother to follow him, he knew Alaric wouldn't get far. After all, he had nowhere to run.

For a long time Alaric just stood there, not quite to the band of the trees marking the edge of the lawn. He just stood there numbly, looking lost. Damon left him to it, giving him space to process.

He kept his face smooth and vacant as always, it was habit by now, but inside he was in turmoil. This whole feeling things again was still new to him, and he had difficulty admitting them to himself, let alone outwardly expressing them. But the feeling currently stabbing at his heart, he couldn't deny; it was fear. It was that fear that had gotten them into this situation to begin with. That fear which led him to slip his blood into Alaric's drinks, that fear which had caused him to dig up Alaric's body in the dead of night. It was that fear which kept him there at the window, just waiting for Alaric to disappear.

Loss was a fact of life, especially for a vampire. He'd lost Katherine, his life, and his father. Even though Stefan was still around, they'd never again be what they had once been, so really, he'd lost his brother too. He'd gotten Katherine back, only to lose her again, first to betrayal, and finally to true death. Any other tentative relationships he'd started to build in spite of himself, inevitably had all been lost over the decades.

Every time, he told himself not to get attached, every time he knew it would only lead to more loss and hurt. But he was never good at following orders, even his own. And somehow, Alaric had become more important than all of the rest. The one person he couldn't bear to lose.

By the time he'd realized it, it was too late. He'd always known it was stupid to go back to Mystic Falls; nothing good ever came of that place.

Finally he decided too much reflection was unhealthy, for both of them.

He strolled down the lawn to Alaric, who still hadn't moved, with forced languid nonchalance. The sun had nearly reached noon, and Damon knew Alaric's eyes must be killing him in spite of the sunglasses, but Alaric seemed to have no intentions of going inside. He didn't turn or look up as Damon approached, though he defiantly heard him.

"Where is she?" Alaric asked when Damon was still a few feet away, his voice leaden with bitterness.

"Who?" Damon wanted to badly to just gather Alaric into his arms, to hold him like that forever, so that he could never leave.

"Or he, I guess," Alaric amended absently, "The person you're going to force me to kill."

Damon knew he probably didn't deserve to feel surprised and a little hurt by Alaric's assumption, but he did anyway. "I'm not going to do that."

Alaric snorted in clear disbelief.

"There are blood bags in the fridge. It doesn't have to be fresh, just human," Damon explained, "After the change you could go on the rabbit diet like Stefan, if you wanted."

"I don't want any of this!" Alaric exploded, the rage bubbling just under his numb exterior showing for just a moment.

"That's your choice," Damon responded placidly, even though his chest hurt and a lump in his throat threatened to cut off his air.

At that Alaric did look up, his eyes automatically widening in surprise, then narrowing with suspicion.

"My choice was death."

"Then don't drink. Resist the hunger, you should be dead again by sunset." There might have been a slight hint of snap in Damon's voice. He was trying so hard to pretend everything was fine, that this was just a normal conversation, but it wasn't, and everything was not fine, might never be fine again.

Alaric stared at him incredulously. "You'd really let me do that?"

Damon couldn't bring himself to meet Alaric's eyes, but whether because he didn't want to see what might be showing there, or because he didn't want Alaric to see what had leaked into his own, he couldn't be sure. Both, probably.

"I'm not going to do to you what Stefan did to me," and he meant it. No matter how much it hurt, no matter how terrifying the thought of losing Alaric was, he wouldn't take the choice away from him.

"Then why do this at all?" Alaric was trying to hold on to his anger, but he wanted to understand more.

Damon had gone against his wishes. Damon had _known_ he didn't want this, but had done it to him anyway. He had every right to be mad. But… there was pain in the slight hunch of Damon's shoulders, and even though Damon wouldn't let him see them, he knew it was in his eyes too. He was good at hiding his emotions, but Alaric had learned to read him anyway.

"Death is messy, and usually fast. I figured you might not get the chance to agree to it when the time came." Damon's voice was calm and reasonable, logical. Alaric was almost able to believe that that was all this was, a coldly calculated move on Damon's part to preserve an ally. Almost.

"So you just wanted me to what, choose my death?" there was a tiny bit of sting in Alaric's voice, even though he hadn't meant it to be there. He was, after all, still a little bit angry.

Damon seemed to flinch slightly, but it was so quick Alaric couldn't quite be sure it was there at all. "At least this way we have time to say goodbye," he said softly.

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: **Tell Me When I'm Gonna Live Inside

**Author: **Indigo Night

**Feedback: **Yes please

**Summary:** Damon went behind Alaric's back, but can Alaric forgive him?

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Vampire Diaries or the characters.

**Spoilers: **AU, so not really.

**Pairing: **Damon/Alaric

**Warnings:** AU. Character death, kinda. Slash. Schmoop.

**Author's Note:** I'M REALLY SORRY GUYS! I was gonna post this days ago, but I had some unexpected computer issues so I couldn't get to it. Anyway, thanks so much for the reviews, I'm so glad you've enjoy this little story and I hope you enjoy this, the last chapter, just as much. Read, Review,

**ENJOY!**

* * *

**Chapter 3**

Silence fell, and though it was strained by the feelings and words still unsaid between them, it wasn't entirely uncomfortable.

"Come back inside," Damon coaxed at last, just a little bit of pleading slipping into his tone before he could stop it.

Alaric hesitated a moment, but nodded and quickly followed Damon back inside. He didn't reach out and take Damon's hand, even though he wanted too. Damon didn't wrap his arm around Alaric and hug him to his side either, but the urge was difficult to defy.

Alaric really looked at the house for the first time as they walked back up to it. It was old and slightly run down, not nearly as large as the Salvatore Mansion, but it was well built, quaint even, like a cozy vacation home.

"Who's house is it?" he asked, wondering absently where Damon had hidden the body.

Surprisingly, Damon answered, "Mine. Stefan and I have several properties around the country. They come in handy."

It made sense, now that Alaric thought about it. It occurred to him that there were probably a lot of things he didn't know about Damon, and suddenly, he wanted to learn.

"You didn't tell the others, did you?" he asked, "About your plan, for me."

"As far as they're concerned, you're dead and buried," Damon confirmed.

"Why?" It wasn't like any of their friends objected to vampires on principle, and he was reasonably sure they liked him well enough to want to keep him around.

"I didn't see a reason to make them lose you twice." Alaric caught Damon's eyes before he could turn away again, and held them.

Like something heavy with sharp edges hitting his chest, Alaric saw just how much this was costing Damon. Damon was a realist, and he truly believed Alaric would choose to leave him, had believed so all along. But he held one tiny sliver of hope, and clung to it, no matter how deep it cut him.

The last vestiges of anger that Alaric had been holding on to melted away, and with it the invisible chasm between them. Faster than any human ever could, me moved to stand directly in front of Damon and cupped his cheeks in his hands. No more turning away, no more hiding behind facades of indifference.

Damon's eyes widened, and Alaric felt him automatically tense to pull away. But he held himself still and met Alaric's eyes with an almost defiant uncertainty.

"Say it," Alaric said, his voice soft but commanding.

Damon frowned, pretending to be confused. "What?" he asked. He hated feeling exposed like this, and wanted desperately to pull away, to crack a joke. But there was something in Alaric's eyes that held him frozen, like a bug under a magnifying glass.

"Ask me to stay with you." Alaric was leaning close enough that Damon could taste his breath, and it was intoxicating, filling his head desire.

Damon swallowed, his mouth utterly dry. Alaric's gaze was boring into him with such intensity he was irrationally certain he would burst into flame at any moment.

"Come on, Damon," Alaric coaxed, a teasing sparkle lighting in the corner of his eye, "If I'm going to spend the rest of eternity with you, you're going to have to make it worth my while."

Hope ignited in Damon so suddenly and brightly that it hurt, and he tried to smother it quickly, but it was too late.

"Stay," he whispered, but his mouth was so dry his voice cracked and he had to clear his throat to repeat himself, "Stay with me." Without consciously realizing it he tangled his hands into the front of Alaric's shirt and held on tight, terrified he would disappear.

For a long moment neither of them moved. Damon was half positive that Alaric would pull away and laugh in his face, but he didn't.

Instead, Alaric pushed it one step further, because he had to be sure, really sure. "Why?" he insisted.

Damon hesitated. He knew what Alaric wanted, and he knew that if he said the words they would be true. But that didn't make it any easier.

Alaric waited. He could see the struggle behind Damon's eyes. He knew what the answer was, but he had to hear it out loud. This was the price he demanded. With anyone else it would have been an easy one, but that only made it worth so much more.

Alaric was just about to give up and turn away, when Damon forced the words out. They came with the force of a fired bullet, and hit no less hard.

"Because I love you!"

Alaric grinned and in the blink of an eye their lips were clashing with hungry passion and their hands were clutching possessively. "Okay," Alaric agreed, panting between kisses.

Damon just held him closer, and for the first time started looking forward to forever.

**The End.**


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